Bartering with Bushmen
by PancakeSandvich
Summary: BLU Sniper enjoys a little alone time with RED Spy. Oneshot, bloodplay. Possible followup later if Roommate demands.


Another piece for Roommate. Her OTP is Sniper/Spy so I told her I'd whip up a little piece for her. Naturally I got carried away and decided blood would be fun.

Thanks to all reviewers for my past stories. You guys make excellent suggestions and corrections. Thanks in advance for reading.

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><p>Sulfur rides the air currents, wafting across my nostrils and spiking my heartrate. I know that teasing aroma; every scar on my back is marked in nicotine and sulfur. The short hairs on my neck stand up and I whirl, searching my little nest through amber frames.<p>

I am dizzy with caffeine and cigarettes and the world swirls before me. Whipping off the sunglasses, I growl, "come out, ya fancy wuss. I kin smell ya."

Whispers of fine French tobacco, the barest hiss of starched fabric brushing against immaculately pressed trousers. I can sense him. My forearms tremble as I draw my kukri. "Come on, spook, come on," I urge him.

A little flash of pain from my back makes me gasp, and I pause, stricken, before realizing the blade didn't penetrate.

"Peekaboo," rumbles a voice in my ear.

I turn so fast my hat falls off, and I stare levelly at the man I kill over and over in my dreams every night.

"Bit overdressed fer a mongrel, ain't ya?"

"Those are fighting words ... mate." He spits the last word at me lightly, mockingly.

"I was under the impression that's what we did here."

"I will not play this game with you, bushman," he murmurs, twirling his knife in one long-fingered hand. His gloves, I notice, are scuffed, and it's hard to tell, but I think there is a patch of blood on his fancy red suit.

"Then what game do you want to play?" I hiss back, brandishing the kukri. He winces at the hiss of air, and I realize how tired he looks.

He hesitates before he answers, softly, "please, give me a moment to rest here. I know this is a safe place. I cannot find a medkit anywhere and I am in poor health."

Laughable! A bloody spook, in my nest, low on health, and he asks me to spare him.

"I didn't stab you. That should count for something, mon ami." His hands shake as he lights another cigarette.

"Bull bloody shit, mate," I tell him. What cheek. "That ain't worth a kangaroo's afterbirth and you know it. Why bother with mercy when we just git sent straight t'respawn? What really gits me about this is why you're so chuffed about medkits. They're everywhere, and respawn's always there too."

"I will not explain to you, bushman," he sneers. I raise the kukri menacingly.

"Gimme any reason, ya snake, and I'll gut ya. Ain't no value in mercy, I'm not buying it. Besides, why would I give you me medkit?"

His eyes flash with hunger. "You have one! M'aidez, please."

I bray laughter in his face.

"I will trade weapons, cigarettes ... merde, what do you bushmen enjoy?"

"Suck me and I'll think about it," I joke.

His face is deadly serious.

"I am willing, mon ami."

For a moment I can't even think, let alone respond. He can't be serious.

He takes a step towards me. I raise the kukri and neatly slice a line in his balaclava. Of course, I'll pretend that was on purpose. He raises his hand, feels the line of blood welling across his cheek, and spits on the floor with distaste.

"You must have great luck with the ladies, mon ami," he taunts me, shaking droplets of blood from his fingertips as he speaks. "If this is how you respond when I take you up on your offer, well, what incentive do I have to continue?"

"If you want yer medkit, ye'll stop jawin' and use your mouth fer somethin' else." My hand fumbles momentarily with my belt, slips it from the buckle, and then gestures to my crotch, already rushing with blood.

Without a word he drops to his knees before me and sets to work on my pants, using his teeth and lips to undo the buttons. My knife is held at the back of his neck to discourage any untoward behavior, pressing against the back of his mask just hard enough to let him know it's there.

Suddenly, I realize that the best place to put my dong may not be in the mouth of an enemy spy. I jerk back, but I'm so hard, and he's already finished unbuttoning me and he slams his face down on my crotch.

I've impaled his throat now. I feel him swallow, hard, flooding my mouth with moans that beg to be freed. I can't show him this weakness. I can't.

The kukri drops from my hand.

His mouth is so hot I can't think straight. I grunt, grasping his balaclava. I want to rip it from his head, to tangle my hands in his hair, but he rubs the flat of his blade against my hand, warning me not to continue. He's a master of his craft; he doesn't stop sucking even for a second.

His other hand teases my hips, brushing against the jutting bone. I can't help it, I whimper like a sickly dingo pup. I almost beg him to go harder, but he knows what he's doing and I don't want this to be over yet.

Before I even feel it my orgasm sneaks up on me and hits me hard, buckling my knees and causing me to groan his title. I can feel the smile on his lips as he swallows heartily. Not a single drop escapes those pouty lips of his. He even licks me clean and presses a little kiss to my tip before tucking me back into my pants and buttoning me up again.

As he stands I grab the front of his blazer and shove him against the wall. As I kiss him hard, press my body against his, I can feel how hard he is, his length twitching against my hip. He makes little noises as I kiss him, ones I think I could almost get used to. The breath hisses from his nostrils as I grab his cock, hard.

"May's well return the favour, mate," I murmur, nuzzling the curve of his ear as I unzip his slacks. My fingers probe the cave of his fly, seeking warm flesh. I don't have to search long before I'm drawing that rod out, savouring the softness of the skin, the taut pulsing of the tissue beneath. I haul down his slacks, grazing my nails against the tender skin on his thighs.

He leans back, his chin raising, his knees bending gracefully as he sinks down to a sitting position. I follow him, nuzzling his cheeks, lips, neck, chest, smoothing my palms across his belly and hips, wrapping my fingers around his stiff cock. I'm not as practiced at dick suckin' as Spy is but he doesn't object when I sink down on his shaft, licking along the trails of his veins.

He moans my title, his fingers tugging my hair, hard. He directs my speed, bobbing me like a fuck puppet. I quickly realize he's still in charge; and as much as I hate to admit it, I love the feeling of him owning me so thoroughly.

And I'm so into it all that I don't notice the trail of the blade across my throat until it's too late.

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><p>My body is tense, throbbing and quivering. His stubbly cheeks brush my legs, causing me to whimper at the tickle. I can't hold on much longer.<p>

Before I know it I'm thrusting into his mouth, so close to orgasm I can barely breathe. And it is now that I lift my right hand, still holding my knife, and slit his throat.

He looks up at me with puppydog eyes, air hissing through his throat. His blood spills hot and sticky onto my thighs. I groan in ecstasy, feeling myself release, and as I come I notice a few white streaks pouring out from his neck. I have slashed him deep, and he is bleeding out fast, decorating me in gaudy colour.

He tries to pull back but I hold him down, fucking his mouth as his eyes dim. It is only a few seconds but it feels like forever, looking into those dying eyes, blaming me. I can almost hear his reproach; but in those dimming eyes I see a spark of desire, still. Something about this has intrigued him. He will awake in Respawn hungry; this much I can tell.

I give myself a few moments to recuperate, then toss his rag doll off me. I steal his shirt to mop up my legs - as much as I hate to dispose of this badge of my conquest, I do not wish to ruin another suit. After all, I sacrificed this blazer to give the illusion of injury; I should keep the slacks looking nice. I pull up my pants, adjust my shirt, and toss his back across his body.

One last thing. I quickly stoop, knowing that soon this ragdoll will disappear. I press a single kiss to his forehead and smooth my glove across his stubble.

"Until next time, mon chéri," I tell him.

I will see him again; I will own him again.

And I will stop at nothing to get my way.


End file.
